


two strangers (burning out our glory days)

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 02:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11841939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: On the nature of regret.





	two strangers (burning out our glory days)

**Author's Note:**

> One of two Neymar fics planned for this month. So obviously I'm coping great.
> 
> Written for the word and the picture prompt. Title from "Silhouette" by Aquilo

 

 

“Do you regret it?” Neymar asks after it’s all over and their bodies are settled on the sheets, the sweat cooling on the divots of their bodies. Paul is silent for long enough that Neymar thinks he might not have understood. Paul’s Spanish isn’t perfect, and the mix of English, Spanish and Portuguese that Neymar tries to communicate in is often less legible than the swivel of his hips.

 

They end up in the quiet a lot. It’s not uncomfortable.

 

Neymar opens his mouth to repeat his question, but Paul cuts him off.

 

“I don’t know,” he says, moving to resettle Neymar’s head more comfortably on his shoulder. It lets Neymar tuck his face into his neck, so he does, breathing in the lingering traces of Paul’s cologne. “Ask me in a couple of years.”

 

“Was it a hard decision?” Neymar asks, pressing a kiss to Paul’s neck, smiling at the soft sigh that gets him.

 

“Always,” Paul says, reaches over to stroke the broad of his palm against Neymar’s spine, tracing the ridges.

 

“Paris is a nice city,” Neymar says, almost a whisper, dropping heavily into the air between them.

 

“Yes,” Paul says, carefully, and Neymar closes his eyes.

 

“Okay,” he says, “okay.”

 

 

*

 

 

Neymar buys a house in Paris after he signs with PSG. It’s a big, airy place in the suburbs, big enough for all of his family, and with his teammates living nearby.

 

He also has a key to Paul’s apartment in the city.

 

It’s where he ends up when things end up feeling overwhelming, face planting into Paul’s couch or making his bed with sheets that smell like Paul’s laundry detergent and curling up in the middle. He’s scared the housekeeper twice now when she came in and found him sleeping.

 

Once, memorably, he gets woken up by Paul’s mom. She’s surprisingly calm about it, in that she doesn’t call the police. Instead, she makes him some strong coffee and pulls out a tin of biscuits out of Paul’s cupboard, and they sit together on Paul’s balcony, enjoying the cool spring air. She talks and he nods along, only catching every third word. She laughs occasionally, full-bellied and familiar and it makes him smile by reflex.

 

Neymar calls Paul later on that day.

 

“You had coffee with my mom,” Paul says, and Neymar nods, swallowing, feeling off balance.

 

“What did she think of me?” he asks, carefully, and Paul smiles.

 

“She said you were nice but very quiet,” he says.

 

“Was it strange for her, finding another man in your bed?” Neymar asks, watches Paul’s smile diminish as he parses through the sentence.

 

“She said you looked like you needed the rest,” Paul says, which isn’t the answer to Neymar’s question, and they both know it.

 

 

*

 

 

These days, Neymar is only in Brazil when it’s winter. It’s cold and there are fog and rain, and the sun doesn’t hit the sidewalk the way it should.

 

Paul walks at his side, down a street that’s too fancy to be from Neymar’s childhood, and Neymar keeps glancing at the shape of his profile against the pastel sunset. They walk close together, close enough for their hands to brush against each other.

 

A week is all they’ve got before Paul goes back to Paris, and then to Manchester. It’s enough to introduce Paul to Davi as Carolina watches them carefully over the expanse of the kitchen table. It’s enough for Paul and Rafaella to decide that they’re best friends, enough to notice how Paul avoids Neymar’s father.

 

Paul fits in here, in Sao Paulo, in Neymar’s life, in a way that Neymar hasn’t felt like he fits in Paris yet, even after a whole season under his belt. But then again, it’s just the way Paul is, fitting in Neymar's bed, doesn't matter what city they're in.

 

Paul looks over to meet his gaze, and smiles, looking peaceful.

 

“Hey,” Neymar says, carefully, closes the gap between them to tangle their fingers loosely. “Do you regret it?”

 

He’s thinking of more than just the transfer. He’s thinking about his heart, spread out across the world, a copy in every city he tries to make his home, and how it feels for Paul to hold space in it, settling for a week of vacation, and stolen days over the rest of the year. It’s no way for a relationship to survive. And yet.

 

“I don’t know,” Paul says, but his smile contradicts his serious tone. “Do you?”

 

Neymar tightens his grip on his hands. In a moment, they’ll turn a corner onto a more crowded street, and he’ll have to let go, so he holds on while he can. “I don’t know either,” he says, quietly, “ but ask me in a couple of years.”

 

 


End file.
